This blog is a place for wives, girlfriends, significant others, and anyone else stuck to a chef to come together and chirp to each other about how to deal with the nonsense that goes along with being the wife of a chef. I was struggling to live with a ghost of a husband who I never saw until I met two other chefs' wives that saved me. It was then that I realized there must be more who need love and support too, right?
Hilary, First Lady Desperate Chefs'Wives
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Friday, February 13, 2009

New Burger at Perry St

Valentine's Day is tomorrow and what better way to warm your heart than to fill it with the delicious cholesterol from a juicy beef burger?! Today Frank Bruni wrote about his dissatisfaction with Corner Bistro's burger calling it "flabby" with a "dull flavor". Well Frankie, don't give up on the West Village just yet. Perry St has got a burger on the menu now. My husband has been wanting to do a burger at the P for as long as I can remember. A home, we rotate our favorite meals and Erik's "perfect burgers" are number one on the rotation. I like mine medium-well, melted white American cheese, pickle chips, ketchup, and bacon. MMM.

In honor of the new Perry St burger, I'd like to share a poem completely dedicated to the classic American hamburger written by Perry St's very own Nick Curtin the cook.

I Sing the Burger Electric

1I sing the Burger ElectricAs the armies of moo consume me and I consume them,They will not let me go until I admit defeat,I see myself fall to the hordes of Red Meat, and yet continue to masticate, mixing fleshwith condiments.Why am I so drawn to adorning the deceased with the Ketchup of the gods?And if I do defile the dead so, what is to stop me from flinging mustard into the faces ofthe living?And if the Ketchup does not complete my Burger?And if my Burger does not feel complete without the blessing of Heinz?

2The love of the medium-rare vanquishes all, and the Burger vanquishes all,That of the ground chuck is perfect, and that of the flaming grill is perfect.That of the Burger is perfection, the taste not only appearing in the meat,It is in the tomato, pickles and lettuce also,It is in the golden fries which so decorate the wasteland outside the world of the Burger,The strong juices which flow down the chins of the average consumer,Leaving 4 out of 5 doctors wondering why America has such high cholesterol.The 5th doctor kowtows to ground meat between appointments.The fragrance which drifts slowly through cities, weaving its way through every house,Wandering into the nostrils of the young, taunting the willpower of the old, andLaughing at the middle-aged,The Burger lies naked on the grill, as the fries dive headfirst into a lake of oil, seen asThey swim through the yellow, and roll about in the great vat, manned by aHigh school drop-out, arms scarred from oil burns,The heaves which echo from the fat man’s throat as his teeth penetrate the bun,Sesame seeds dropping onto wax paper beneath his chin,Teenagers, College students, the depressed, the lonely, the hungry,The Cows let out a melodic moo, calling all from the streets into the small diners,Meeting a guy named Vinnie who would love to make you a Burger,Provided you enjoy your Burger with the physical properties of a charcoal briquette,But you consume anyway, so that the mooing will cease,The greatest of cow consumers are different people than the rest of the world, their salivaHaving been replaced long ago in exchange for milk,Their loins growing hot at the sight of the girl behind the butcher’s counter, searching forthe Meat of choice,The recipes were discarded long ago, replaced by experimentation and finally finesse,Finding the perfect Burger,The ground Filet, the salad herbs, gently placed on a Portuguese sweet roll, surroundedBy seared potato minions, determined to discover the secret of the beef,Only to find, that to truly know means to meet a grisly end at the teeth of a connoisseur,Martyrs in the name of potato,As the Burger stands triumphant, knowing its place in society, the king of fast food,The strangest of quality meals, it remains on its throne of bread, awaiting a beautiful end, promised to so few.

3But we must not forget the other players in the masterpiece we know as Burger,The grill, flames passionately licking the edges of the beef, conquering the evil of e-coliTo pave the way for charcoaled goodness,The waitress, wearing a tight black number, balancing your meal delicately on her arm inA true attempt to earn her tip,The grill master, the bulk food supplier, the dishwasher, the farmer, his wife who insistedThey send some cows to the meat factory because she needed a new sewing machine,All instrumental in composing the delicate orchestra which sends your taste buds into aDancing frenzy as the flavor crescendos with a burst of juice, never just piano,Never just forte, the Burger is rife with dynamic,But be warned, for the Burger is a delicate instrument,I see it defiled by the hordes of pork and I am disgusted, for the beef is not to be touchedBy the Piglets of pestilence, for the beef shall stand alone, and though the pork isGood and tempting, resist the double Burger with bacon,The devil’s meal, the conqueror of the cardiovascular challenged, two meats are notBetter than one.

4O my Burger! I dare not leave you for the likes of healthier foods, though I know it mustOne day be so.Until then, O Burger, may you aid me as you have aided the others,The lost, the hungry, the confused, the lonely, the desperate, the happy, the rich, the poor,The lovers, the haters, the doers, the living, the dying,May you bring them to the place which they seek, whether it be satisfaction of thestomach and tongue, or Nirvana so they seat themselves next to Buddha and boastof an enlightenment found through the simplest of animals, or just a place farfrom our world of temptation and reality television,O say these are not the flavors and smells of the Burger alone, but of a culmination ofMany lives, meeting at your plate to bring you happiness unmatched,O say these are bliss in a beef package!

Does anyone know which well-known poem this one mirrors? Between the genius of us all, I'm sure someone knows.

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